


Spicing things up

by Moiself



Series: Sir's Boy: Sub Dean Ambrose [3]
Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Bottom Dean, Cock Cage, Dean Is A Good Boy, Dom/sub, Figging, M/M, Praise Kink, Sir can be whoever you want, Spanking, Sub Dean, Use of a kitchen island
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-05
Updated: 2016-11-05
Packaged: 2018-08-29 03:46:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8474179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moiself/pseuds/Moiself
Summary: Dean's lips parted to take in the warm sweet cream Sir was offering. He let it remain in his mouth for a moment, savouring the flavour before swallowing.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I lay the blame for this one at the feet of bingbinghua & jellybelly30 on tumblr.  
> They know what they've done!

“Open wide…”

Dean's lips parted to take in the warm sweet cream Sir was offering. He let it remain in his mouth for a moment, savouring the flavour before swallowing.

“Can you taste the difference the vanilla pod makes?”

Sir had decided that today he would like to cook, and that while he cooked, he would like his Boy to keep him company. He had already prepared a Moroccan lamb stew which was slowly filling the kitchen with the warm scents of mint and cinnamon and rich fruit laden sauce, and now had moved on to dessert. From his vantage point sitting on the smooth dark granite countertop of the kitchen island, Dean watched, attention captured by the skilful ease with which Sir chopped and diced, by the concentration on his face as he tasted and adjusted and tasted again. Slices of dried apricot, slivers of orange zest, fingertips loaded with honey...all had come his way, and now this. A spoonful of heated, vanilla and sugar infused cream.

“Yes, Sir. It’s delicious.”

“Of course it’s delicious! Only the best for my beautiful Boy.”

His fingers swept along Dean’s jaw, grasping lightly at his chin, tipping his face upwards to receive a kiss. Sir returned to his saucepan, adding the gelatin to the cream mixture and pouring into little dishes once it had melted before turning his attention to the spiced syrup he would be poaching some pears in. A bottle, minus a little sip for his Boy, of dessert wine found its way into a pan, joined by more cinnamon and honey. Sir stirred the mix and reached for his final ingredient, a hand of root ginger. He sliced off a large piece, almost as long as his finger and began to peel.

Dean watched with fascination as Sir scraped away the papery skin with the sharp blade of his knife. Not given permission to speak, his questions about what Sir was doing, about the way he seemed to almost be carving the root in his hand lay unasked on his tongue. Satisfied that he had achieved some unknown goal, Sir turned to Dean who obediently opened his mouth to taste. 

Sir smiled at him like a shark circling its prey. 

“Not this time, Boy. Turn around for me.”

He slipped off the countertop and turned away from Sir, the only sound a muffled clunk from his cage as it knocked against the side of the island. A finger tucked under his collar gently tugged him backwards until his ear was at Sir’s mouth. His other hand held out the carved root in front of his Boy, the shape and size of it giving Dean an idea of what was about to happen, his whole body subtly trembling in anticipation. 

“Are you putting two and two together, darling Boy? I think you are...and you're absolutely right. This ginger is going in your sweet little hole and it will stay there for as long as I want it to. Now hop up on the counter there like a good Boy.”

Dean was quick to obey, clambering onto the worktop, his limbs pliant and his thoughts emptying as Sir guided him into the position he desired, head pillowed on folded arms, ass high in the air. Sir pulled at the waist of his Boy’s basketball shorts, tugging the fabric down to sit mid-thigh, humming appreciatively as Dean’s peachy buttocks came into view. As usual he wore no underwear in order that he might be ready at all times to serve his Sir’s desires.

Taking a deep centering breath as Sir pressed the end of the makeshift ginger plug, Dean willed his body to relax, to offer no resistance to the intrusion. The carved root slipped easily past his entrance, the ginger slippery enough with it’s own juice, his muscle stretched enough from Sir’s regular attentions. 

Apart from the sensation of the ginger’s presence, Dean felt nothing save for a little coldness. 

“Taking it so well, such a good Boy.”

Dean reveled in the praise and in Sir’s touch as his warm hands travelled over the skin of his ass, kneading and squeezing the flesh before those same hands disappeared as Sir left Dean to wash his hands and return to his preparations.

On the countertop, on display like some manner of centrepiece Dean focussed on the sounds of Sir finishing off his recipes, peeling and chopping more ginger to add to the poaching liquor, peeling the pears and placing them carefully into the pot. The sensation of the ginger plug remained a cool presence...until suddenly, it wasn’t quite so cool anymore.

Heat started to build in his hole. Low at first, easy to ignore, easy for him to maintain the position that Sir had placed him in. Before long it had grown, edging past uncomfortable to almost pain. He squirmed involuntarily, the movement attracting Sir’s attention.

“Oh ho ho. Now the party is starting, Boy. Starting to feel the heat are you?”

“Yes, SIR!”

Dean yelped as a hand landed on his left butt cheek with a sharp smack, clenching his ass in reaction, the clench tightening his channel around the ginger, squeezing out more of the burning juice.

“Time for a little history lesson, Boy. Did you know that figging...that’s what’s happening here, figging...was thought to have been developed by those naughty, hypocritical Victorians as a little bonus for spankings?”

Sir brought his hand down on Dean’s right cheek, sparking off another clench-burn reactions.

“You see, if the person getting spanked,” _left cheek_ “clenched their buttocks,” _right cheek_ “the fig...the ginger...would burn more,” _left cheek_ “but if they didn’t clench,” _right cheek_ “then the spanks would hurt more.”

Sir’s hands smoothed over Dean’s now reddening cheeks, enjoying seeing the evidence of his work. He took a moment to check on his Boy before resuming.

“What’s your colour, sweet Boy?”

Dean’s voice was quiet and a little shaky, a better indicator of his mood to Sir than any spoken answer.

“Green, Sir.”

“You call out the second that changes, do you understand?”

“Yes Sir...tell you if it changes.”

Any semblance of conversation between the two men disappeared as Sir resumed the spanking, swiping at his Boy’s asscheeks alternately, not keeping count, seeking only to find that perfect touch that would bring Dean to the edge of subspace. Dean, for his part, allowed himself to drift on the tide of endorphins that Sir’s hands and the ever present, ever growing burning of the ginger had created.

Sir watched as each imprint of his hand caused his Boy’s perfect ass to grow rosier and rosier, his cock growing hard at the sight. With his free hand, he unbuttoned the fly of his jeans and freed his cock.

Not wanting to leave his beautiful Boy for a second, he stretched across to the stove, grabbing the still open bottle of oil which he had been using earlier. His barrage of smacks ceased as he pulled his Boy towards the edge of the counter, easing his feet to the floor.

“Such a perfect Boy, you take everything I give you. How did I get so lucky?”

Leaning over Dean’s soft, docile form, Sir kissed his temple, at the same time pulling the ginger root from his hole, letting it fall to the floor.

“I can’t resist any longer...who could resist such a beautiful, well behaved Boy with such a pretty red ass? I want to hear you, Boy. Don’t be holding anything back, because I sure as fuck won’t.”

“Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”

Having slicked up his cock with the oil while he had been speaking, Sir was ready to bury himself in his Boy.

“Hold yourself open, Boy.”

He did as instructed, and with one hand on the back of his Boy’s neck, the other grasping his oiled length, Sir pushed into Dean. His thrusts were hard, primal, the clanging of his Boy’s cage against the side of the cabinet vying with both their guttural grunts and moans.

Precum dripped through the gleaming metal of Dean’s cage, seeming as though fucked out of him by the sheer force of Sir’s passions, his stuttering cries of _Sir_ and _please_ , fuel to the other man’s fire.

With one final thrust and a moan so loud that it was almost a roar, Sir’s orgasm hit. His hips drove into his Boy as he filled his ass with his cum, falling onto him as he stuttered through the aftershocks.

Fearing he might crush his precious Boy, he raised himself upright as soon as he was able, clasping Dean to his chest, his softening cock slipping free with the movement.

“Wonderful, wonderful, Boy. You’re so perfect.”

He turned Dean around in his arms, looking him over to make sure he was ok.

“What colour?”

His Boy snuggled happily into his chest.

“Green, Sir. _Very, very_ green.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [tumblr](http://sortofgetit.tumblr.com/)


End file.
